


Is That So?

by ZeRealPlagueDoc



Category: The Collection (2012), The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Reader is a University Student, learn about bugs, the collector is an entomologist professor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:55:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeRealPlagueDoc/pseuds/ZeRealPlagueDoc
Summary: The male reader is a university student who likes The Collector; he doesn't know that The Collector likes him as well, but on a much more possessive level.
Relationships: Male/Male - Relationship, The Collector/Male Reader, The Collector/Reader, The Collector/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Is That So?

You listen to Professor Emory go on about praying mantes. You write down a few notes as he drones on. You could see some people nearly falling asleep. You have always enjoyed Professor Emory’s class. As far as you knew, you were probably the only person in the class to ask questions or write down notes. He pauses, looking around the room. His black eyes reflect the light, giving them an eerie emerald colour; they remind you of a spider’s. Professor Emory is attractive, you couldn’t deny that. Short blond hair, deep black eyes, a few scars here and there, and some stubble. It didn’t help that you were slightly shorter than the six-foot man.

Your eyes meet for a second before he continues to look around the room. You raise your hand up, ready to talk ask a question. He gives you a nod as in saying ‘go on.’ “How long do Hymenopus coronatus live? I heard about six months,” You ask him, ready to write down his answer.

“Female Orchid Mantes live about eight to nine months. Male Orchid Mantes are the ones who live about five to six months,” He replies back.

“And what predators hunt them, Sir?” You ask, not noticing the way his eyes darken the moment you called him ‘sir.’

“A range of them. A few are monkeys, snakes, lizards, and scorpions. Since they hide so well, they are not classified as common prey. When they are caught, however, they can put up a major fight. This usually happens when they see prey they know is weaker than them, or the females are defending their eggs. Other than that, they flee. Fleeing is easy since they have two pairs of wings,” He says, keeping eye contact with you. Every time you look down to write and look back up, his eyes meet yours repeatedly.

“And what do they eat? I do know that all praying mates are cannibals in some fashion, but what other types of insects do they target?” You ask him, writing down a few more bullet points to get started. Professor Emory doesn’t seem to be upset by your questions, in fact, he has a glimmer in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine. You are not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing but ignored it.

“Butterflies, moths, flies, beetles, bees, and crickets are their main source of food. They will accept dead bugs but preferably go for pre-killed ones. They like the thrill of the hunt and have been known to target bigger prey. Some have been observed to go after frogs, mice, turtles, birds, lizards, and scorpions,” He walks around the front slowly as he speaks, his gaze now sweeping across the room. His eyes narrow slightly at the ones he catches sleeping. You write down what he’s said, happy with the information you’ve gotten. When his gaze goes back to you, you give him a kind smile and nod.

He looks around a bit more before taking a seat at his desk. The bell rings, making everyone stand up. People nudge those asleep awake and help them pack up. “I would like everyone to write a report on an insect they find the most interesting. Make sure you don’t just copy and paste everything or I’ll fail you. I hope you all paid attention today. You can use what was said today to aid you if you wish.”

Everyone files out, while you lag behind. You finish putting away your notebooks and pens in your messenger bag, ready to head out. “[Redacted], stay after class. I wish to speak to you,” Professor Emory says, not looking up from the papers on his desk, a pair of glasses sit on his face, slightly pulled down on the bridge of his nose. After everyone files out, you and your professor are the only ones in the empty room.

“You wanted to talk, Sir?” You ask, not hearing the barely auditable catch in his breath.

“Yes. You are the only person in my class that asks questions and does very well on assignments. I can tell you’ll have great potential,” He tells you, looking up from his papers to make eye contact.

“Well, thank you. You’re also a great teacher. I’m happy to be in your class. I am sorry it seems that no one actually cares,” You tell him, a friendly smile on your face. You shift your weight on your feet for a bit.

“ **_Is That So?_ ** Thank you then. You are an excellent student. If you wish to stay behind and ask more questions, feel free to. You could use what I tell you to your advantage,” Professor Emory says, tone low with a dark undertone to it. You nod.

“Yes, Sir. If that is all, I’ll be taking my leave. It was nice talking to you, Professor Emory,” You bid him farewell and leave the classroom, finally down for the day. 

\--------

You arrive home, ready to start your project. You write about  Andrena cineraria, or the Ashy Mining Bee. During your research, you fail to notice the man watching you from your stairs. You don’t notice him lick his lips or his dark attire. You write about how they are very common and found all across Europe and that they are not dangerous. You also add in how they are very friendly and very rarely sting or bite. The man on your stairs doesn’t move. All he does is watch, his spider-like eyes taking you your hunched form at the coffee table. He watches as you scroll through articles about the Ashy Mining Bee on your computer and write down notes, making sure to make a list of facts before putting it all into a report.

The man walks down your stairs quietly, his eyes never leaving you. You take a sip of your hot tea. The man stands at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn’t move anymore and simply watches you. His breathing stays even and calm. When you drink the last of your tea, you get up so you can make more. The man is quick to squat down and watches you walk into the kitchen. He listens to you make another cup of tea and watches as you come back into the living room. You sit right back down in your original spot and start to get to work.

The man slowly and quietly sneaks towards you, making sure to keep his footsteps light. By the time you realize something is wrong, it’s too late. An arm is wrapped around your throat and the other is wrapped around your waist, pinning one of your arms down by your side. You use the other arm to try and get the arm around your throat to loosen, only making it tighten around you. You try to breathe in, only to have your air cut off. You gasp a few times, your heart racing.

You throw yourself back and try to pick up your legs. This only leads to the man lowering you down to the ground on your knees and leans over you, pressing his body into yours. The grip around your waist and neck tighten. Black dots start to appear in your vision as it slowly turns to black. It isn’t long before your body stops responding to your wishes and your consciousness fades.

\--------

You wake up on a soft bed, your arms tied in front of you with leather cuffs. You try to open your eyes only to see darkness. You lift your hands up to feel a blindfold. You don’t remove it in fear of the man who took you to be there. You let yourself relax, not hearing anyone in the room. You lay there for a while before hearing a door open. You hear heavy footfalls approach you after the door is closed. You don’t move as you force your breathing to be even.

You flinch when a nitrile gloved hand runs over your hair and down your neck. It caresses your cheek, the touch very gentle and light. You feel a breath on your cheek, making you flinch again. You hear what sounds like purring as the hand leaves your cheek to cup your jaw and turns your head to face his. You feel the man’s breath on your lips before he retreats.

You feel the bed dip slightly before you feel arms around you. Your body is shifted to where your head rests on the man’s lap. You grip his pant leg as his hand goes through your hair, petting you like one would do a dog. You’re not sure what to do, but you feel like you have to let him do this. You feel like if you don’t allow him to do what he likes, you may not make it out alive.


End file.
